>>19403951It's not edginess, there's just some hard to describe feeling, that's cold and unsettling, like there's something missing. It's like opening up a bucket, there could be anything in there, you think about opening up buckets all the time and hear all kinds of stories about how these buckets can contain great and interesting things. Those things could be beautiful, they could be scary, they could be funny, they could even be a living nightmare. But then you start to open up these buckets, one by one there's little more than soil or sand in them. Sometimes there'll be a few bugs, nothing particularly special, maybe some earthworms or a ladybug. Maybe somebody did try to do something mean or nice with the buckets, you might find an old petrified piece of poo, or maybe someone scribbled some nice sounding but ultimately empty words in the sand. Eventually opening up buckets becomes a normal thing for you, you can more or less figure out what's in it from a glance. The bad things stopped really scaring you, there's rarely anything that's really that bad and you figure that even if there was you'd notice the signs before it's too late. The "good" buckets don't really have anything you want either, it's not like there's anything really wrong with them, at most you're rubbed the wrong way a little by the poorly thought out messages but it's not like it's a big deal and you understand the sentiment. Eventually you realise that what you want isn't in any of these buckets. There's not really anything to be angry about, and it's not like the buckets are at fault for that; you can't even really fault the people who dream about how great buckets can be either because you used to be one of them. You simply stop opening buckets.
